


not strange, precisely

by nymeriahale



Series: prompt fills [36]
Category: Rugby RPF, Rugby Union RPF
Genre: M/M, POV Outsider, RWC 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28526871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymeriahale/pseuds/nymeriahale
Summary: It’s over the World Cup that Maro sees it, and once he does he finds it hard to believe he had ever seen anything else.Training camp is the first time they catch his eye, the night of their RAF bonding exercise. It’s not much, Owen’s hand lingering on George’s shoulder as they part ways to go to their respective shelters, George looking after him until he disappears into the darkness.Maro frowns - he knows George and Owen are close, of course. He’s never liked the way Saracens sometimes joke that they shouldn’t be, say it’s strange - not least because he can tell Owen doesn’t. But that? That is - not strange, precisely. But it’s something.
Relationships: Owen Farrell/George Ford
Series: prompt fills [36]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/396019
Comments: 13
Kudos: 21





	not strange, precisely

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: 'Ooooo please could you do another outsider POV? Like the Jonny one? It was so so so good! Maybe Maro? Slowly figuring them out? I feel like he’d catch on but keep it quiet idk'
> 
> This is a work of fiction and as such nothing is to be considered implied or insinuated about real life rugby players.

It’s over the World Cup that Maro sees it, and once he does he finds it hard to believe he had ever seen anything else.

~

Training camp is the first time they catch his eye, the night of their RAF bonding exercise. It’s not much, Owen’s hand lingering on George’s shoulder as they part ways to go to their respective shelters, George looking after him until he disappears into the darkness. 

Maro frowns - he knows George and Owen are close, of course. He’s never liked the way Saracens sometimes joke that they shouldn’t be, say it’s strange, not least because he can tell Owen doesn’t. But that? That is - not strange, precisely. But it’s something. 

Maro would rather there was nothing out of the ordinary going on in their senior team in the lead up to a World Cup, and resolves to keep an eye on it. If either of them are nervous, if that’s what it is, then perhaps he can help. If not, if there’s some situation they’re monitoring, something they’re communicating about - maybe Maro could help with that, too. But a moment of silent communication is hardly enough to ask about, so for now he’ll keep watch.

~

The flight out is the next instance, Maro roused from sleep by someone pressing the call button for cabin crew. He sits up to stretch and check the time, glancing around the first class cabin as he does so. Most of his teammates are asleep, Piers slumped back against his headrest and George and Owen in the centre of the aisle lying facing each other. Maro is settling back into his seat when Owen shifts, apparently awake. He rolls away from George to press a button on the arm of his seat, Maro raising his eyebrows as Owen’s privacy screen starts to close - not exactly the level of availability the captain should be projecting, even if most of the squad are asleep. Maro knows for a fact that all of the coaches have kept theirs down. George reaches across Owen to stop him in the next moment, his hand on Owen’s wrist - Maro hadn’t realised he was awake, either.

Owen turns back to face George, away from Maro, and Maro watches George’s expression as they talk seriously, heads close. Maybe Owen _is_ nervous. He’d been captain in South Africa, of course, but there’s no denying that this World Cup is something different, no denying that the South Africa tour had been a failure. 

George seems annoyed but as Maro watches it melts to something softer, something sadder. George releases Owen’s wrist, Maro only then noticing that he was still holding it. He draws a hand up Owen’s arm to rub at his shoulder, steady. Owen nods, twists to lower the screen.

Maro shutters his eyes before he’s caught staring, but not before he glimpses the lines of Owen’s face, drawn tense. Sleep tugs him down the instant he lowers his eyelids and Maro fights it for a moment, watching under his eyelashes as George and Owen settle, facing each other once more.

~

Time seems to fly from touchdown in Japan to kick off of their first match, a blur of training and sponsor commitments, interspersed with meetings and team bonding. Maro keeps half an eye on Owen but he’s delivering speeches confidently, throwing himself into training with as much passion as ever, and he’s certainly not shy in meetings. Things are different now they’re in Japan, now the tournament has actually started. It feels more like a normal competition, and Maro supposes that has settled Owen - he knows it’s settled him.

He’s making the rounds after their convincing win, standing behind George in the spontaneously formed handshake line. He sees Owen approaching, grins greeting for a teammate after a queue of Tongans, but Owen doesn’t see, eyes on George. 

They clasp hands, lean in for some traditional rugby back slapping. 

“What did I tell you, huh?” George says - into Owen’s ear, but with the surrounding ruckus he has to speak loud enough that Maro can hear.

“Yeah yeah,” Owen sounds long suffering, but his eyes fall shut and his expression softens. He ducks his head into George’s neck for just a second before they draw apart.

Maro blinks.

“Pearl!” Owen greets enthusiastically. “Good game!”

Maro receives his own hand clasp and back slap, the line moving on before he can figure out what about it was different from the one Owen had given to George, why it didn’t feel the same.

~

Maro sits the USA match out but that’s not going to keep him from celebrating with his team in the aftermath. The lads hardly mind, pull him into the locker room chaos with just as much enthusiasm as they would have had he scored the winning try. They’re playing well, they’re feeling good, and while they’re well aware that things will only get harder from here on in someone seems to have decided that means they should celebrate these wins more, not less.

Maro had missed congratulating George on the pitch, with George too busy being interviewed after his Player of the Match performance. He’s almost sad to have missed playing under George - he loves Owen, of course he does, and he’s happy playing for him, but he likes George’s calmer style of leadership too.

Maro turns circles in the locker room, beer in hand, and finally spots George huddled in a corner with Owen.

George reaches out to touch Owen’s nose as Maro makes his way over, the injury now cleaned up by the medics.

“Fordy!” Maro calls. “You telling our good captain he doesn’t have to bleed for the team, that Eddie’ll reinstate him anyway?”

They share a look, too brief for Maro to read.

“Something like that.” George laughs, standing to embrace Maro. “Y’alright? Didn’t get too bored on the sidelines?”

Maro shrugs. “Seems safer.” He goes for the cut on Owen’s nose but Owen leans away, far enough that he practically falls into George’s leg.

George steadies Owen with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey!” Maro holds his hands up, surprised. “I’m not the one who was half responsible for that.”

Owen frowns. “What?”

“Y’know, Fordy’s hospital pass,” Maro turns his grin on George so it’s clear he’s joking, adds a wink when George takes a moment to smile back. “Trying to get yourself that captain status permanently, huh?”

“Nah, this isn’t from Quill,” Owen dismisses. “I got it earlier.”

Maro clucks his tongue. “It really is dangerous out there.”

George hums, noncommittal, retaking his seat.

So they’re not up for talking. 

Maro doesn’t take it personally, has more than enough experience of the two of them breaking down matches to know how focussed they can get, how the inclusion of anyone else’s thoughts on the first pass through only disrupts their well worn routine.

“I just wanted to say congrats on the try, the man of the match award,” Maro tells George, raises his beer in a toast.

“He did a fucking good job, eh?” Owen agrees, gripping George’s knee and shaking his leg.

That lightens the lines of tension on George’s face. “Thanks, Maro,” he says, sincere. “I'm sure you’ll be out there showing me up next round.”

Maro hums, thoughtful, then laughs. He toasts the two of them once again and turns away.

“That pass -” he hears George start, intent.

“- it was nothing.”

“It could have -”

Maro pauses to avoid getting in the middle of the Bath post-match photo. 

“It was _nothing_.”

Maro looks back to see Owen’s hand still on George’s knee, gripping hard enough that his fingertips have turned white. George’s head is ducked, too low to make eye contact with Owen never mind anyone standing around them.

“I’m still sorry,” George says, stubborn, jaw tense.

Owen sighs. “You can be, if you want. But you don’t need to.”

George huffs, slumping back against the wall. He raises his eyes to Owen’s and Maro looks hurriedly away, taking a swig of his beer to appear distracted in case George looks any further - though Maro doesn’t expect that he will.

“Pearl! Get in here,” JJ gestures animatedly. 

Maro joins the picture with a grin, and when it angles him back to George and Owen their expressions are still intent.

Maro frowns when the camera is lowered - are they okay? Should he check? He’d been joking about George’s pass to Owen, hadn’t thought the man would seriously be criticising himself for one moment in an otherwise stunning game. He guesses he should have known better.

Maro scans the two of them carefully, taking another swallow of beer as cover.

George is leaning against the wall, Owen now mirroring his posture so his knee falls against George’s. Owen is listening attentively as George makes a point but his response is underlined with a smirk, and George’s protest is laughing when he punches Owen on the arm. 

They’re okay.

~

Maro keeps a close eye on Owen in the aftermath of the hit from Lavinini, frankly in awe that he’s avoided the medics for the second match in a row. For the first few phases of play after the card he expects someone to cart Owen off, but when he gets through that clean Maro mentally shrugs it off, moving on to focus on the match.

Owen misses the conversion from Elliot’s try, then Ben’s, but Maro doesn’t think anything of it until he’s following him and George off the pitch.

“You better be going to the medics as soon as we get in there,” George says as they enter the tunnel, voice tight.

“I’m fine,” Owen assures him, Maro straining to make out the words.

“You missed two kicks,” George states.

Owen sighs.

“ _Owen_.”

Owen steps sideways, bumps into George, but whatever he was about to say is interrupted by Ben jogging up to join them.

“Faz! How’s the head?” Ben asks, rapping the side of Owen’s skull with his knuckles.

“Fine,” Owen scoffs.

“Two matches in a row, you’re a danger magnet,” Ben huffs.

“I can’t help it if I’m too good to stop legally,” Owen smirks.

“Medics are going to want to take a look, you know,” George reiterates the point, light this time.

Owen sighs, dramatic. “Guess I better go to them, so they don’t have to look for me.”

It’s George’s turn to take a step sideways, bump into Owen. “Guess so.”

~

The cancellation of their France game doesn’t mean things calm down in England camp, not with the rearrangement of hotels and hastily thought up replacement training schedules, but they are given a break over what would have been captain’s run.

Maro is surprised when he sees Owen in the reception of their hotel, having expected Eddie to keep him in meetings.

“Faz!” he calls.

Owen turns, gives a media smile.

Maro just about manages not to frown. “Got some time free of meetings for a change?” he asks, light.

Owen laughs. “For a change,” he confirms. He checks his phone. “Actually, I was just -” he steps towards the exit of the hotel.

George arrives. “Our taxi here already?”

“Couple of minutes,” Owen tells him.

“Where are you off to?” Maro asks, friendly.

They share a look, too fast for Maro to read.

“Just grabbing coffee, nothing exciting,” Owen dismisses.

“Thought we’d actually get out of the hotel now this one’s not tied to it,” George jerks his head at Owen, who rolls his eyes in exasperation.

“D'you want company?”

Maybe Maro can figure out what’s going on if he gets an afternoon with them, with just them. Because there’s definitely something going on. It’s not just Owen dealing with the responsibility of captaincy because something had been up with George the last two matches too, and Maro doesn’t know what it _is_. If he doesn’t know what it is, how can he help?

From the look they trade they had been planning on discussing whatever has been on their minds on their coffee date, and by the careful assessment in their eyes when they turn to him it’s not something they want help with.

“If you like,” George is the one to reply. “But we were planning on pulling up some league to watch, not sure it’d be much fun for you.”

“I'm surprised none of the others want in,” Maro comments. If they really don’t want help he’ll have to accept that, but if they’re not going to say it flat out they can’t stop him pushing either.

Owen shrugs. “They’re all busy with their families, you know?”

Maro can’t help but frown at that - it’s true. And it raises the question of what the two of them can possibly be dealing with that they would miss family time for. He knows Owen, and George, if to a lesser extent. He knows what family means to them.

“I was just on my way to check if my mum’s woken up, actually,” Maro jerks his head towards the stairs George has just descended, doesn’t miss the way the two of them relax into each other at the suggestion he might not be coming.

Owen’s phone buzzes. “That's the taxi,” he steps towards the door.

“We’ll see you later,” George smiles at Maro before following in Owen’s footsteps.

Maro frowns, watching as the two of them descend the steps from the hotel. They really don’t want him to intrude.

Owen turns to George as he opens the door, favours him with a true smile, face crinkling into a laugh as George climbs in the taxi.

It can’t be too bad, then.

~

The room rings with applause after the closing words of Owen’s build up speech to the Australia game, the quarter final, their first knock out match. He’s been passionate, always is, but as he looks around the room that fades to fondness.

Maro can relate - goodness knows how many weeks with these lads and the team spirit is high, no differentiation left in his mind between regular clubmates and countrymen, everyone now a teammate he’d trust to the end.

Maro lounges back in his seat as the coaches head out, the squad starting to talk amongst themselves. He’s watching Owen, but only idly, his eyes staying fixed from the end of the meeting.

He watches as Owen walks to a table - not his, not theirs, not the one he’d been at before delivering his message. Instead Owen goes to George, drops to his haunches next to him in absence of a seat.

Maro can’t see George’s expression but he can see Owen’s, can read in the lines of his body the attention he’s paying to George’s quiet words.

Owen has gone to George after every match build-up, and George had gone to Owen after his pre-USA speech, but Maro hadn’t thought to factor it in to whatever’s going on because they’ve also sat together at every build-up meeting. This time they haven’t, this time George isn’t even in the starting squad, and Owen has still gone to him.

Ben’s laughter rings around the room, followed by the rest of George’s table, bringing George and Owen's heads up. Owen seems confused, annoyed, and what Maro can hear of the snap of George’s voice rings the same. Owen pushes himself to standing with a hand on George’s thigh as Ben and Joe spur each other on, leaving the table with a shake of his head. He stops, a few steps from the door, turns to make unerring eye contact with George. He raises an eyebrow in invitation, a smirk playing around his mouth when George stands a second later and the two of them follow the coaches’ path out of the room.

Maro frowns. He thinks he should factor that in, but he’ll be damned if he can figure out how.

~

They’ve done it, they’ve beaten New Zealand. They’ve actually fucking done it, they've made the final of the Rugby World Cup!

Maro yells at the sky, wordless, before wrapping an arm around whoever is nearest - it turns out to be Tom Curry, who bounces in his embrace before running off to greet the substituted players.

Maro grins, undoing his scrum cap and using the time to take in the pitch, the adulation from all sides. They’ve beaten New Zealand, after all - he might never do it again. He can’t wait to see his family, to see their smiles - though the smiles of his teammates give him joy enough for now. Tom Curry is hugging Sam Underhill while Jamie and Elliot shout glee in each other’s faces. Ben Youngs is shaking hands with the referee, and Kyle is consoling their opponents. Maro will get there, in barely a minute, but for now he’ll take the moment to bask, to observe.

His eyes land on Owen, speaking seriously to Kieran Read, every inch the captain. But it’s nothing on the tension Owen shows with George, and he’s glad to see it. Whatever is going on, it’s not an issue now. 

Then Owen’s face lights up, and he runs three steps forwards to sweep George into his arms. Maro isn’t even surprised anymore, watches as Owen pulls George off his feet, spinning him in giddy circles. George is laughing, ducks his face into Owen’s neck as they stagger to a stop. 

They stand, for just a moment, arms wrapped tight around each other. The same as they had in the winning Test against Australia, as they have after so many victories and tries and kicks over the years.

So why does this feel significant, feel like the _something_ Maro has been poking at the edges of all tour?

He considers the matter as George Kruis arrives for celebrations, glancing at where George is following Owen along the procession of players while he makes his own way through.

Jonny lifts George off his feet when they cross in the handshake line, George laughing just the same - but it’s not the same, and Maro can’t place why. He huffs in exasperation in a brief break between players, raking his hair back into place. Jonny puts George down and George sways back into Owen, Owen catching him with a hand on his hip, just for an instant. They glance at each other, and - that’s it! That’s what Maro has been seeing.

It’s not the lingering touches that had first drawn his attention, and it’s not nerves, never had been. It’s not tension, either - it’s _intensity_. It’s a focus on each to the exclusion of even the squad, to a degree that Maro has never seen on either of them outside of senior meetings, has never seen before in any context bar rugby. They’d had that on the flight, on the pitch, in the locker rooms, and now Maro has narrowed down what’s caught his eye he bets he’ll see it in camp - it had been in the looks they shared before going for coffee on their day off, after all. 

Maro smiles at Steve Hansen when he arrives for a handshake, makes the appropriate noises. 

For a moment, he’d been elated - he’d solved it! But having figured out what he's seeing doesn’t tell him why it’s there. There could still be a problem in the squad, or with either of them, that they’re celebrating overcoming. But the realisation is progress, and there can’t be too many reasons for intensity like that.

Maro shakes his head, dismissing it from his mind. The tournament is almost over, it might not end up being important after all - he ignores the part of him that objects to that, that says that kind of intensity doesn’t exist without cause. For now they’ve beaten New Zealand and he’ll celebrate that, focus on that joy.

The rest will come, or it won’t, with time.

~

The locker room after their loss to South Africa feels empty. It’s not, is as packed with dignitaries, coaches, and players as it has been at any point throughout the tournament, probably more so. But it’s empty of energy, the same way they had been on the pitch.

Eddie had given a speech, and Owen too, scraped something out of themselves to sooth the others.

Maro hasn’t seen Owen since.

Maro exhales, long and deep, and pushes himself to standing. He strips his shirt, drops his shorts. He walks, in briefs and strapping, to the showers.

When he gets there he stops, sits on a bench in the steam and unwinds tape from around his thighs, breathing slow and steady.

He does not cry.

Someone is crying, he can hear it, someone has hidden himself away in the far stall and is crying, gasping breaths.

Maro could go see who it is, probably should. He might be able to help.

He deposits a pile of tape on the floor, where someone will get it later. It might even be him. 

Maro stands, walks past unoccupied stalls. He slows as he approaches the muffled tears - does he want to interrupt? Whoever this is has clearly hidden on purpose, is keeping quiet to escape attention. He stops shy of the stall and leans forwards slowly, unobtrusively.

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised by what he sees. 

It’s Owen, Owen choking on disappointment, Owen trying not to show weakness. And it’s George, holding him up.

Maro freezes, but they haven’t seen him.

Owen is wrapped around George, crying into his shoulder.

George is cupping the back of Owen’s head, swaying gently in comfort. 

Maro thinks George is talking, hushed, but he can’t make anything out over the spray of the empty shower. He watches as George rubs a thumb over Owen’s hair, as Owen’s hands clench in the white of George’s shirt.

It all makes sense, now. The lingering touches, the tension, the intensity: they come together in the clearest of pictures, in front of him in a shower stall.

George and Owen are in love. 

How could it ever have been anything else?

Owen pulls back, raising a hand to wipe away tears Maro hadn’t even realised George had shed. He doesn’t see Maro - Maro doubts he sees anything but George. 

They’re definitely talking now but Maro can’t hear a word, can only make out from the bleakness of their faces that the words are gutting and true.

Maro is leaning back, cautious, when Owen melts into George once again. George is leaning into him in turn, now, the two of them holding each other up.

Maro should say something, let them know he’s there, remind them of where they are.

He breathes in, ready to clear his throat, and stops. Is what he’s seeing here any different to what he’s seen in the changing rooms? It is, there’s no doubting that it is, Maro can feel the difference the way he so often has on this tour, more sharply now he knows what it is he’s seeing.

But George is fully dressed, and Owen in his shorts is still more decent than Maro. It’s nothing more, on the surface, than what he’d left behind, nothing beyond Sam speaking gently to Tom as he tries to deny tears.

It is different, it is more - but it’s taken Maro three years to notice that. It’s taken two months of paying attention, of actively trying to get to the bottom of what was going on, and in that time he’s only caught a handful of moments. He can’t imagine that’s a coincidence. It has taken this, this level of devastation on the heels of last week’s delight, for Maro to finally see - because he’s not kidding himself that this is new. Now that he’s seen this for what it is he can recognise that he’s been seeing it for years. For years this has been there, under the surface. For years he hasn’t seen, and neither has anyone else. 

They wouldn’t, even now.

George and Owen are safe, and there’s no doubt in Maro’s mind that they know exactly where they are.

So Maro retreats, without being seen. He leaves them to their privacy.

~

It’s over the World Cup that Maro sees it, and once he does he finds it hard to believe he had ever seen anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last prompt I had left to fill, and it's also my favourite - I really hope you liked it! As always I can be found on [twitter](http://twitter.com/nymeriahale) and both my [main](http://nymeriahale.tumblr.com) and [sport](http://fordfarrell.tumblr.com) tumblrs, and would love to hear from you either there or in the comments!


End file.
